


Lyrium's Boon

by therutherfordwife



Series: Souls Between Worlds [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Lyrium's Bane companion piece, One-Shot Collection, alternate POV, companion fic, prompt fills, side fics for existing long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-07-25 16:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7540330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therutherfordwife/pseuds/therutherfordwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion piece for my fic, Lyrium's Bane; a collection of one-shots, prompted or otherwise, telling the story from alternate POV and giving life to the scenes behind the scenes. </p><p>Lyrium's Bane can be found <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6745204/chapters/15414289">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Moment of Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> POV Kirill Trevelyan

The bells ringing was what finally pierced my tired consciousness. An army, attacking Haven? And only hours after the Breach was closed. I wanted to scream at the Maker, hurl insults at Andraste and tear apart the heavens themselves for throwing me into the center of this mess. 

I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I was supposed to be back in Ostwick, and the only reason Father hadn’t sent men to retrieve me already was the influence of the Right and Left Hands and their need of my own hand. Otherwise it would be right back into that miserable hell hole.

Still, at least in Ostwick there wasn’t a mysterious army about to lay us waste. The sounds of fighting could already be heard outside the gates . . . But Leliana’s scouts had retreated. Who was fighting?

The next moment came a furious pounding on the wooden gate, along with a distinctly Tevinter accent calling for the door to open. Normally that would have been cause for alarm, but considering things were already alarming and the man sounded quite desperate, I went ahead and shoved the gates open.

The scene before us was chaos. Bodies were strewn everywhere around the dark-haired mage that had called through the door, and even as I watched one of the injured men rose and made as if to strike the mage. Before I could get a hand on my axe, however, a third figure darted forward and suddenly the night was bathed in a soft blue light and two hands _burst from the attacker’s chest._ Then the hands seemed to solidify, and the man’s torso exploded apart, and I realized that the light was coming from tattoos traced all across the body of a very tall and obviously strong woman, the hood of her cloak thrown back and her brow etched with a diadem of glowing pale blue that served to accentuate her strong features in the dark. 

She had a stern face, though I figured that was mostly due to the circumstances. It was long, sharp chin and strong jaw leading up to a head of slightly frazzled curls that were barely being contained in some sort of knot. Her eyes were blue, startlingly so in fact, and the only reason I could tell that in the dark was because they seemed to illuminate slightly along with her tattoos. Bit disconcerting, actually; almost like a cat, or an elf.

I could see the tattoos extended up from her hands, and judging from the patches of soft light coming from thin spots in her clothing her whole body was similarly marked. The light dimmed, masking her in shadow once again, but I’d seen enough to come a disturbing conclusion.

I trusted this woman.

I don’t trust people as a rule. My father was not one to inspire trust in fellow people as a general rule, and the one person I’d come to trust above all others had betrayed me in the most horrific way. But this woman . . . she was _open,_ somehow, hiding nothing on her face, and it almost felt like I _knew_ her. From where, I could not say, but nothing about this feeling made sense. I decided it would be best to ignore my instincts for now; let her prove herself just as everyone else had yet to do.

She seemed dazed after her attack, and the mage had to grab her and forcefully pull her through the gates. even as he described what was to come. I listened carefully to the man’s - _Dorian’s_ \- information. Now, Dorian was a prime example of everything I should avoid. Exotic, handsome, passionate . . . he told us of the approaching army, gesticulating wildly with his hands. I noted in the back of my mind how elegant his hands were before pulling myself violently away from that line of thought. _He’d never want you anyway,_ I reminded myself. _He’s Tevene. They don’t stand for . . ._ relationships _like what you want anyway. He’d probably hate you if you even tried._ I mentally shook myself away from those thoughts and focused on what he was telling us of the approaching army.

A woman named Calpernia, an ancient Tevinter Magister called the ‘Elder One’, and a horde of fanatical and enslaved mages.

All coming for me.

Brilliant.


	2. Sleepy Smooches (Marian Hawke/Merrill)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by dreadwolftakeme and hedgehogtier, "Sleepy smooches." I chose Merrill and Marian purely because feels ^.^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV: Marian Hawke

I was bone-crushingly tired. The fight had been quick but brutal, but it had already been a long day of travelling and it was pure shit luck that had me still awake when Garrett had heard something. Merrill had gone to bed hours ago, and the only reason I was still up was because Garrett had needed help with getting his straps fixed on his gauntlets. Said his fingers were 'too rough' for the delicate work. 'Too rough' my ass. Now my feet hurt, I felt like a sweaty disgusting mess, and I couldn’t actually be sure the cut on my back had stopped bleeding; but since my back didn’t feel _wet_ anymore and Garrett hadn’t thrown a bitch fit when I walked off, I’d probably be fine til morning. Whoever these ‘Venatori’ were, Varric hadn’t been exaggerating; they were definitely a pain in the ass. But all that hardly mattered now; the familiar patchwork of my tent was in sight, and within -

My heart. _Ma vhenan,_ I grinned tiredly at the thought.

I pushed past the flap and was met by the most welcome sight that never ceased to amaze me; my gorgeous wife, nestled in our furs, sleeping soundly with a slight smile curling at the corner of her mouth. She always slept with her limbs strewn every which way, taking up far more space than such a small person should be capable of, but it was my absolute favorite thing when I crawled into bed beside her and she strew herself all over _me._ Maker, I would never tire of this woman.

I dropped my daggers as quietly as I could and stripped of my armor, thankful once again that Merrill’s affinity for toxins had dealt her a stern nose or else I would likely have killed her with my own reek. As it was, my very first goal after waking would certainly be a bath in the river, cold or not. I felt _disgusting._

Crawling under the furs, I gently eased under one of Merrill’s arms and wrapped my leg around hers, scooting as close to every part of her as I could and resting my head on her slight shoulder. She made a slight sound of protest when my cold feet came to rest next to hers and I cursed myself for being so inconsiderate.

“Marian?” her sleepy mumble tickled my hair. “S’at you?”

I shushed her gently, eyes already closing in a losing battle against my own weariness. “Sorry to wake you, love, go back to sleep.”

She shifted under my head, and a tiny hand came to my chin and brought my head up to meet her sleepy gaze. Maker, but my breath _still_ caught at the love she directed at me. I hardly deserved it; but no matter how often I tried to tell her that, she simply would not hear it. Then the adorable little bitch had gone and _married_ me.

Idiot elf.

“Vhenan,” she breathed, sliding down in the furs to meet me for a sleepy, soft kiss. I let myself revel in it, tired as I was; I was _home_. Tomorrow we’d continue our journey, still tired, still a mess (though hopefully a slightly cleaner one), and still together. We’d been through hell and back over the last few years, but so long as we stuck things out together, we’d pull through all right.


	3. Crestwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A moment between Kirill and Harding in the field.
> 
> POV: Lace Harding

“Didn’t you say something about ‘a walk in the Viscount’s garden’?” grumbled Kirill. 

“The guards were always so grumpy when I did that,” hummed Merrill happily. “I don’t know why; no one was ever using the gardens, and there was plenty of elfroot to spare. They never did stop me, either.”

“That’s because Varric was paying them off, love,” Marian said without looking up from where she sat polishing her daggers. Merrill’s mouth formed an ‘O’ of delighted surprise. “But why would he do that?” she asked.

“Because Kirkwall would have fallen without its most innocent blood mage,” Garrett said as he walked by, leaning over to plant a kiss on her temple. She giggled when Marian threw one of her daggers at him, but he deftly plucked it out of the air and presented it back to his sister with a dramatic bow while she rolled her eyes at him.

I don’t think I’d ever been in a camp with stranger people, and considering I’d once had the Chargers, Sera, Vivienne, and Cole in camp together, that was saying something. Kirill was watching the trio’s exchange with as much curiosity as I was, and he shot me a grin when our eyes met. I’d always liked our Herald; he was big, but not in a mean way. More in a ‘I look like I can kill you but I’d rather be cuddling’ kind of way. Not that most people noticed; they seemed to get rather stuck on the ‘looks like he could kill you’ part. “What do you think of our friends, Harding?” he asked quietly.

“I think Varric left out a few details in that book of his, your Worship.”

Kirill roared a laugh. “That he certainly did, Harding. And you know better than to use my title, I thought we’d been through enough with the bears to leave that behind when we’re in the field.”

I grinned. “Fair enough, Trevelyan.”

We were quiet for a few minutes, sitting under our makeshift tarp and watching the rain fall as darkness descended on Crestwood. “Have you ever thought about what you’d like to do with your life? If we weren’t at war, that is. Did you always want to be a scout?”

The question caught me off guard. Of course I had; what child didn’t occasionally dream up a brighter future for themselves? “If if had been possible, I think I’d have liked to be a Shaper,” I said. “My grandfather came from Orzammar, and he used to tell me stories of the Shaperate. Keepers of the histories, storytellers. I like to think I would have been a good keeper of stories.” I shrugged. “I didn’t realize at the time how structured Orzammar is; I'm a surface dwarf, from a family of surface dwarves. No one from my family could ever be a Shaper.”

“I’m sure you’d have found a way. You’re too damned hard working to let a little thing like bigotry get in your way.”

I looked at him in the dim light; he seemed lost in thought. “What about you?” I nudged him. “Any childhood fantasies that caught your interest?”

“Nothing so interesting. I wanted to be a horsemaster; the Trevelyans are known for our horse stock, and our stables were magnificent. Before I was sent to Starkhaven, and after I came back, I always was sneaking out to be with the horses. My father finally put a stop to it by killing my favorite warhorse, Antony; said he’d kill another horse every time I was caught there when I wasn’t supposed to be.” I shuddered, both at the awful fear-mongering his father had employed and the dead way he said it. People only talk like that about things that hurt too bad to face. I couldn’t help but wonder what else his father had done to keep his son under control.

“Well I’m glad you’re our Herald and not him. Can’t say how long I’d make it before I wanted to put an arrow into a man like that.”

“Not as long as you’d expect, I can tell you,” he said it with a scowl, but I could hear the humor returning to his voice. 

I lightly patted his elbow. “Just keep doing you, Trevelyan. You’re alright.”

His eyes shone in the light of the campfire. “Thank you, Harding.” 

"No charge, Trevelyan."


	4. Modern AU Prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett and Ila are best friends sharing a house in Kirkwall. Will either of them be able to overcome their own thoughts for long enough to actually act on their true feelings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely not part of the canon universe, this is completely a self-indulgent drabble that I completely adore because Reasons ^.^

_Laughing so hard should be illegal_ , thought Garrett as he chuckled along to Ila’s unbridled cackling. “You’re going to pop a rib if you keep laughing like that,” he pointed out.

“It’s your fault, asshole, I never would have compared Meredith to Grumpy Cat if you hadn’t pointed it out. They could be twins!” she laughed.

He grinned. He loved her laugh. “Anders said much the same.”

There was a strange hitch in her laugh. “I’m sure he did. We have a similar sense of humor, you know. Between that and the blue, you’re basically dating the male version of me!” she was laughing again, but Garrett felt that something was … off.

Rather than push her, he tried to go for humor. “That’d be too strange. It’d be like dating my sister!” _My gorgeous, precious and completely perfect sister that I’d love to never call ‘sister’ again,_ he thought ruefully.

He missed her response, but she stood suddenly and began clearing the table, ghost of her laughter still dancing in kitchen. “I’ve got a stream date with Ivory tonight,” she called from the sink. “You wanna watch?”

He pretended to think about it. Go out with Anders, get wasted for the upteenth time and wake up with a hangover, or stay up watching Ila stream happily while she flirted with everyone and their aunt online?

Garrett sighed dramatically and chose the lesser of two evils; the one that wouldn’t give him a headache tomorrow. “Sure. Lemme grab the Dragon and I’ll follow you up.”

Ila beamed at him. “Sure thing. I’ll let the girls know.”

 

Garrett glanced at the text on his phone and sighed. How to respond? He wasn’t meant for single life, that was for sure, and since Anders wasn’t around …

“Hey Ila?” he called. Maybe now he would find the courage to actually ask her out; what did he have to lose? Frowning at her silence, he slid off the couch and made his way up to her room. She was definitely inside; she must be streaming, he could hear her agitated voice come muffled through the door. He knew he shouldn’t, but . . . he pressed an ear to the door.

“ - you really think so? But what if I - no, I know, it’s just - Dammit Sauce! Ok, ok, just let me get a hold of myself before I say this, ok?” A pause. “Alright. Ugh, how do you tell someone you’ve been in love with them? I’ve never done this before.” A groan, then a thump. She was in love with someone? His hand clenched, and he spared a glance at his phone and the text message he hadn’t responded to … yet. It was another streamer, wasn’t it? It had to be. She never spent much time with anyone but him because of her self-consciousness over her tattoos.

“Ok for real this time. I can do this - no, shut up you ass, just let me actually talk!” she giggled. “I’ve wanted to tell you this from the first week I knew you,” she said clearly. “You make me feel like … like nothing else matters, so long as we’re together. You always have had my back, and you don’t mind when I’m stupid and you’ve never judged me for what that fuck put all over my body and … you made me feel like a person again. I … I would be so honored if you would go on a date with me?”

He pulled his ear from the door angrily, not bothering to listen to the words that speckled her delighted laughter. Walking downstairs, he whipped out his phone and typed out a single line of response to Isabela.

[txt 4:14pm] _Sounds like a date. I’ll be there in 5_

 

 

“How was your date?” Maker, it killed her to ask. Especially tonight; she knew she wasn’t doing a good job of hiding her pain, but damn it she was almost too tired to give a fuck. She’d only just got up the courage to ask him out when he broke up with Anders, had practiced with Sauce and Ivory online, and had finally decided to do it -

And he’d come home that night from his first date with Isabela, ranting about how wonderful she was. The first of many.

“It was fine. We had the worst service _ever_ once they realized I was a mage, but Isabela pulled out her badge and set it on the table with her guns and started cleaning the barrels and you would not believe how polite they were after that. We - Ila, are you alright?” He’d stopped in the act of throwing his keys into the little basket by the fridge.

“Fine.” She didn’t look up from her video game. “Why?” If she’d been with him at the restaurant, she would have gone full diva on the staff. Ilaria Zavetnya required exactly five and one third ice cubes in her drink, thank you, Ilaria Zavetnya accepted absolutely no spinach that was not soaked in the most expensive olive oils, and if the druffalo was cooked on the same stove as the chickens that was simply unacceptable. It would have been grand fun . . .

“Because you have out the Oreos and the chocolate milk. You never eat Oreos when you’re fine. What happened? Is it your mom again? Did she show up like last time and start -”

“I said I’m fine! They’re just Oreos, Garrett, Maker, it’s not that big a deal.” Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? Was it against the law to eat Oreos?

“Ila. Double stuffed chocolate Oreos with chocolate milk. Chocolate makes you sick and you only eat it when you need an excuse to be miserable. Do I need to call Kirill and get him over here?”

Damn him, when had he gotten to know her so well? “No! I’m fine, you don’t have to do anything, I just want to sit and shoot people’s heads off, is that too much to ask for?”

He strode over and sat on the floor in front of her, blocking her view of the tv. “Ilaria Elysian Zavetnya. You tell me what’s wrong right now or I swear to the Maker I will leave you to deal with your mother alone next time.”

She froze. That was no idle threat; her mother was planning a visit next month, and Kirill would be gone and if she had to face her mother alone there was every chance she would do something stupid to herself and get herself hurt. If Garrett hadn’t been there last time … “I don’t like your girlfriend,” she blurted out. No, no no no she wasn’t supposed to say that why had she said that? She pulled the turtle beaches from her head and threw the controller on the couch as she bolted to her room, only to have Garrett catch her arm.

“What? You’ve never had a problem with Isabela before. Did she do something to upset you?” He was actually concerned? Not angry? She wanted to cry. She wanted him to be happy, and if Isabela made him happy then what right did she have to be upset? _Take what you can get, Ila,_ she told herself. _Be his best friend. Be his shoulder to cry on. Be a fucking bridesmaid in his fucking wedding for fuck’s sake, but stop being a bitch about the woman he obviously wants more than you._

Garrett shook her arm, getting irritated now. “Ila. Why does Isabela make you want to drown yourself in chocolate? What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s not Isabela, Garrett, Maker. Just leave it alone, I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not. What do you mean, ‘it’s not Isabela’?” he pulled her closer. “I’m not letting you walk away from this, dammit!”

“I hate your girlfriend!” she exploded. “I’ve hated all of them! And your boyfriends!”

He seemed taken aback. “But … why?” There was anger in his voice now; no doubt he was realizing the depth of her betrayal, the months and years of being ‘friends’ with all of his SO’s all seeming to be a lie. She’d be angry too, probably.

She froze. No, she decided, she couldn’t do this anymore; couldn’t live like this, couldn’t be so close to him and have to still hold him at arm’s length because he didn’t want her the way she wanted him. Would it be better to just tell him? It could hardly be worse. Kirill still had the spare bedroom, she could move in with him and try to put the pieces of her back together if she went through with this. But if she kept it to herself, then she could stay, and be a part of his life, and be his best friend, and …

And never be his. No. Enough was enough. She didn’t want to live a life of second place, couldn’t live every day with the fact that he didn’t love her constantly crammed down her throat. That wasn’t fair to either of them, and if she stepped back for a moment she knew in her heart that she deserved better. Better than second choice, better than being her love’s roommate. She spoke before she had a chance to reconsider.

“Because they’re not me,” she whispered brokenly. Tears she’d held at bay all evening flooded down her cheeks. His face went red, his jaw hanging open in shock at her admission. Just let him yell at me, she thought, just get this over with so I can -

“You idiot,” he whispered, and before she knew what was happening she was practically slammed into the wall of the hallway, his lips on hers and his hands cupping her cheek and tangling in her hair. The kiss was fire, and anger, harsh but then … not harsh. Softening, deepening, changing from angry to practically life-affirming in its passion. Her surprise kept her from responding at first, too shocked to understand, but as he only kissed her deeper she matched his intensity with her own.

She whimpered against his mouth as his whole body pressed against hers. She’d never been kissed like this; it was … it was heaven, an eternity in a single moment. It was the long-awaited conclusion to a story she’d never thought to see the end of, and even if there was no epilogue, no happily-ever-after, she would carry this moment with her for the rest of her life.

When they finally pulled away, Garrett rested his forehead against hers, both of their eyes closed and both panting slightly. When Ila finally opened her eyes, Garrett’s warm brown ones were already open to meet hers. The joy and yes, love, she saw there had her melting all over again. “I only dated them because I thought I couldn’t have you,” he whispered.

“I didn’t think you wanted me because you had everybody else,” Ila felt tears sliding down her cheeks again.

“You,” he leaned in for another kiss, “are all I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took the prompt from a post by [HermioneDanger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HermioneDanger/works) on tumblr (with permission)


	5. The Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reason Garrett owes Ila a massage. 
> 
> Significant events just prior to Chapter 20 of Lyrium's Bane.
> 
> Garrett Hawke POV

I watched the Inquisitor watch the rift with interest. He wasn’t doing anything is the thing; wasn’t he supposed to be some mouthpiece of Andraste or something? Savior of the world? I mean, the guy was big enough, don’t get me wrong; he looked like he could pop someone’s head off with a simple twist of his wrist. Or the giant axe on his back. I smirked at the thought.

“Hawke?”

“Yeah?” Marian and I both chorused at the same time, then flicked each other our favorite shit-eating grins. Kirill, Neria, and Cassandra responded with identical snorts of disgust, but we got appreciative looks from both Alistair and Sera, so I considered this match a draw.

“How good are you at battling demons?”

I gave him a speculative look. “At least as good as you are, I’d say. And I’m more experienced.”

“Care for a wager?” 

“I _always_ care for a wager, Inquisitor.” Marian snorted behind me. “And what might the terms be?”

“That rift is strong. We’re going to be in a horde of demons here in a moment, if you’d care to see who the better demon slayer is. As for the reward, how does a favor sound?”

“The Inquisitor offers the poor displaced mage a favor? How could I possibly refuse?” I quirked an eyebrow at him, knowing he caught my sarcasm for how he’d abandoned the mages to the Venatori. I could understand, a little. Maybe. Mages were dangerous. But the templars? The mage’s keepers? They protected the world from mages, but who protected the mages from them? 

He leveled this horribly long-suffering gaze at me, and I huffed. “Alright, I’m in. If we draw, is it going to be favors all around or no favors for anyone?”

“Favors all around."

I nodded my agreement and watched as he slid his glove off of his left hand and stepped almost eagerly toward the rift, hefting his axe over his shoulder. Merrill let out an _oh_ of fascination and I couldn’t help but silently agree. Shit looked like the Fade, but _on his hand._ What was the Fade doing on someone’s hand? 

Maybe those fanatics hollering “Andraste!” had a point.

The fight was short and ugly. With four mages, a berserker, two warriors and a pair of pin-happy rogues, the demons hardly stood a chance. There were a lot of the fuckers though, I’ll give em that; by the time we were done I was covered in enough gore to make even my grubby ass wish for a bath. I wiped some demon blood off my cheek and flicked it at Marian; it landed directly on her cheek. She pretended not to notice, but I saw her fingers twitch for her dagger. I was probably going to regret that later.

I let things get settled before making eye contact with His Mighty Redness and holding up nine fingers. He gave me a toothy grin and held up . . . nine fingers. Shit.

I wandered over to the man, being careful to avoid Neria’s and Alistair’s puddles of gunk. She must have some sort of spell that they mastered during the Blight to get themselves cleaned up. I can’t picture anyone wanting to spend their time covered in darkspawn blood, and Maker knows there’s never a lake when you need one. I settled down next to Big Red and idly started picking gore out of my boots. “So what’s this about a favor?”

He didn’t pause in his polishing his axe. “Varric tells me you had a thing with Fenris for awhile.”

Ok, that was _not_ what I expected to hear. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, exactly, but I guess you can say that. There a reason for this line of questioning?”

He sighed and set aside his axe, mirroring me in picking at his boots. “Was there ever a way that you two were able to . . . _interact_ without irritating his lyrium?”

“Are you asking how we fucked without turning him to literal fire?”

His face went as red as his beard and I stifled a laugh. That sense of embarrassment could be fun. I filed the information away for later use. “Yes,” he replied bluntly.

That earned a real laugh. “Fair enough. To answer your question, yes. We did. But I’m afraid if you’re looking for an exotic experience, he’s otherwise engaged and you’re not a mage, so it wouldn’t work.”

“No, no, I would never -” he sputtered before visibly calming himself. “I have a friend, a woman who endured the same process of lyrium implantation as Fenris did. She can barely stand any sort of touch, and I was hoping . . . “

“You were hoping to give her freedom,” I stated somberly. Poor girl; must’ve been recent, else Fenris would’ve known about her. Kirill gave me a surprised glance. No one ever expects wisdom from the mouth of the world’s greatest unintentional fuck-up, but I practically shat insight on occasion. “It’s hard to see someone you care about chained by something you have no power to free them from.”

“Yes, exactly. There’s no way to help her, then?”

“Not for you, unfortunately. If you were hoping for a nice _intimate_ reunion, I’m afraid you’d end up doing more harm than help.” 

He actually sputtered. “No, it’s not like that! We’re . . . honestly, I don’t know _what_ we are. But she’s the closest thing I have to a sister, and it hurts her that she can’t touch anyone. I see her do it all the time, reach out and then pull back. It’s like a tiny piece of her dies each time.” He glanced away. “Besides, my _interests_ lie elsewhere.”

I followed his line of sight, grinning when it landed on the Vint. I gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. “You’ve got good taste, Inquisitor. Don’t think I could go for another Vint, but I can definitely recommend the cuisine.”

“Shut up,” he hissed. Interesting. Someone didn’t want to make his affections known. No way that was going to bite him in the ass, but hey; it wasn’t any of my business. 

I hesitated before speaking again. “So, about your friend . . .”

“Her name is Ilaria.” 

_Ilaria._ That didn’t sound very Vint. “Ilaria. Right. I could . . . I mean, if you want, if you’re ok with it, I could probably give her a massage or something. I can handle the lyrium.”

His whole face lit up. “That would mean a lot to me, Hawke. You have no idea, thank you!”

I looked back over at Marian, pushing away thoughts of siblings long gone. “Oh. I think I have some idea, Inquisitor,” I murmured before pushing to my feet. “Well, this was a fascinating conversation. Let’s do it again sometime. And don’t forget you owe me a favor!” I called over my shoulder as I walked away.

An impact on my back thrust me off of my feet and landed me face first into the Warden’s pile of demon shit. I leapt to my feet, prepared to rip someone apart with their own ear only to be faced with a cackling Marian. I gave her as evil a grin as I could. “I’ll get you for that,” I menaced.

“You can _try,”_ she retorted.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett and Ila organize her new rooms in the Eastern Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so it's been basically forever, but I WROTE A THING. A small thing, but still. A thing. I was getting upset because there were a lot of little Garrett and Ila moments that I didn't really want to shove in to LB because of flow and various other reasons, but they were so precious I didn't want to lose them and then I remembered that THAT WAS WHY I STARTED THIS FIC *facepalm*
> 
> So most of the actual relationship building between Ila and Garrett will be taking place here as opposed to LB, so that LB can focus on some other stuff that needs to happen ^.^

“Maker’s bloody balls, how many books does one woman need?”

I swatted him lightly with the one in my hand. “As many as I can get.”

Garrett snorted. “No one could possibly read this many books, even if they spent their whole life doing nothing but reading. Really, Ila, what’s the point?” Despite his complaining, he carefully set his armload of material on the ground and started helping me sort them onto the shelves.

“I need more practice reading,” I said, trying to find the title of my current book on the list Leliana had provided me. This one was . . . history. Orlesian history. Top shelf then, far right, next to the Nevarran histories. “I have ready many times this many books back home. The only reason I am so slow to read now is that I am reading a whole new script in a whole new language. It still feels like I am . . .” I frowned, frustrated again by my lack of words. “Switching the letters, then translating the words themselves in my head. I am much better than I was a few months ago, but I cannot stand this slow reading. And since I cannot train for the next few days, I will read. Once these are organized.” I hefted a book from the pile Josephine had assembled, scanning her list for the title. Compendium, it seemed. Noble houses of Thedas, and a quick flip of a few pages confirmed that it was even complete with illustrated coats of arms and detailed genealogies. Excellent. I set it on the table next to me.

Garrett sighed. Glancing up, I saw him holding a small book and turning pages wistfully. Catching my gaze, he closed it carefully and set it on the shelf. “A children’s tale. I taught Fenris how to read it back in Kirkwall. He’s much better than he thinks he is, by the way, but that’s true for a lot of things with him.”

“You two were close?” I asked softly. 

He nodded. “Marian likes to tease me for my affections, and she can get away with it because she’s my sister and the only person she’s ever loved is Merrill. She says she knew Merrill was hers the moment she heard her speak.” He sighed, gaze far away.

“It’s never been like that for me. I see people, and they’re all so different and interesting and full of stories. And I want to know them all. I love the mystery, I guess. I wanted to find out why Allison was so afraid, how Fenris gained the ability to shove his hand into a man’s chest. Why Anders was so bitter.”

The last was said with a simmering anger. The few times Anders had been brought up had had similar reactions, and I was reluctant to ask further into what happened to him. My heart, meanwhile, was pounding mercilessly against my ribs at what he was saying. I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to press in case I made him uncomfortable, and what if -

“And me?” the words popped out of my mouth. _Traitor,_ I internally groaned at my mouth.

A grin split his face and he knelt down so that we were face to face. “You,” he said, sliding a book out of my hands and tapping my in the forehead with it, “are a whole world full of mystery.”

My heart was pounding. No one had ever looked at me like that, said anything like that. Part of me wanted to die of sheer emotional overload, part of me wanted to kiss him. Wait, no, I should say something. What should I say? I should be witty. _For god’s sake, Ila, say something witty!_

“I am as mysterious as a pancake,” I declared.

_Fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> You can submit prompts and shenanigans in the comments or at my tumblr [here](http://therutherfordwife.tumblr.com/)


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